


Something New

by michii1213 (BuckytheDucky)



Series: Semicolon Project [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Triggers, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/michii1213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all Charlie and Meg's fault that Castiel was even out that night. By the end of the night, he was glad for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> There are triggers - mentions of self-harm, blood, near-death.

The trio moved slowly through the thick crowd milling around the street. Every few minutes, one of them would surge forward, coming back with a triumphant cheer and a paper plate in hand. They all sampled as much food as possible and exchanged friendly arguments over which vendors had the best food. They’d been at the street fair for almost an hour but had no plans on leaving any time soon. Though it wasn’t usually his scene – far too many people, far too much noise for that – Castiel Novak was having more fun than he anticipated. Charlie licked her fingers clean of the zesty sauce from the pasta dish they’d just eaten, and grinned widely at him.

“So are you glad we dragged you out of your house?”

Castiel shrugged. “I never said I wouldn’t come.”

“No, you just implied heavily that pining over your failure of an ex was what you _really_ wanted to do,” was Meg’s dry retort as she took a small sip from the bottle of water she’d smuggled into the fair (paying seven dollars for a drink was as outrageous to her as kicking a puppy would be to a normal person).

“I wasn’t _pining_ ,” he sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “I was just... Wondering why only losers seem to be attracted to me.”

“Because losers only want to be with someone better than them. They think their status of loserhood will suddenly be gone if they’re dating a person way out of their league.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“Yeah, Red. That was almost not cheesy.”

Coming from Meg, that was high praise. Charlie merely smiled, a hint of smugness in the curve of her lips, and disappeared through the throng of people. Meg pulled on Castiel’s arm, bringing him to a stop; their friend popped up beside Meg after only moments. Meg raised an eyebrow in amusement as Charlie held up a flimsy plate that held some sort of kebab. They walked on in silence, chewing and swallowing the mystery meat and roasted vegetables, their eyes taking in the sights around them. A mixture of aromas – some spicy, some sweet, others savoury – blended in the air, invaded their noses; the roar of hundreds of people talking and laughing nearly overwhelmed Castiel, would have had his two best friends not been by his side.

He’d met Charlie Bradbury in a child development class in high school. She had immediately attached herself to him, ignoring his declaration of not needing any friends – he was better off alone. Her dark brown eyes had bore into his blue ones as she told him, rather vehemently, that nobody deserved to be lonely. “I’m gonna make sure you’re never alone, even if it kills me” had been her exact words. Her red hair matched her fiery personality perfectly. He’d asked her why she was so Hell-bent on being his friend; she never gave a clear reason, but he could see the sharp pain of her own losses before a wall snapped into place behind her eyes, leaving no trace of the sadness. From then on, she’d been the most loyal godsend to his solitary existence: She always seemed to predict what he needed before he even knew he needed anything. Many nights had been spent talking too long on the phone as he vented – or cried – and she listened, empathised, or distracted him from his misery by gushing about crushes or new video games. She was his protector – mostly from himself – and he wasn’t sure where he’d be now if he didn’t have her.

Meg Masters had come along like a hurricane in the summer before his second year of college. She’d slammed her tray down onto the cafeteria table and dropped into the chair beside his; her eyes had been dark and stormy, the inferno of barely-concealed anger roaring behind the espresso-coloured irises. Castiel and Charlie had stared in wide-eyed shock at the newcomer, but Meg hadn’t met their eyes. Instead, she’d snapped at them with acidic sarcasm, prompting them to exchange surprised looks. There had been no discussion. Meg had sat with them that first day and never left. She’d proven, time and time again, to be just as loyal as a friend as Charlie – though in a completely different way She wasn’t as sure of herself in the emotional scenes, but angry? Angry, she could do. She could give the best, if not crass, advice if he was unsure as to how to exact revenge on someone who’d wronged him or get his crush to notice him. But when it came to crying, heartbreak, or the cold tendrils of hopelessness, she nearly drowned. Castiel often wonder what had caused her to join them that day in the cafeteria , but he was definitely grateful that the tornado hadn’t blown out of his life.

With a start, he realised there was a space between the clusters of party-goers. He hurried forward, his hand gripping Charlie’s tightly – he hoped she would latch onto Meg before they were separated – and took a deep breath as he made it to the other side. There was a significantly smaller amount of people wandering about on the side street; he could breathe easier without the crowd. Meg pulled her wrist from the redhead’s grasp, brushing invisible dirt from her dark T-shirt.

“Well, that was interesting, Clarence. Mind explaining why Firecracker nearly ripped off my arm?”

“I – I’m sorry. I saw a less-occupied space and went for it. There’s nothing that can fully detract from how absolutely crowded the streets are tonight.”

Meg’s expression softened as she observed his hunched shoulders and averted gaze. “Eh, it’s okay.”

He shot her a grateful look, the appreciation for her words bright in his blue eyes. They stood silent as people made their way past, further down Main Street where more booths stood, the delicious aroma of food tantalising their senses. Once Castiel had calmed down enough to where he didn’t feel like his heart was trying to escape his ribs, he allowed Meg to lead him and Charlie back out into the fray. Castiel didn’t eat any more samples, though his friends came close to begging him to; his appetite had vanished with the rise of his anxiety. He knew the bottle sat deep in his jacket pocket – he’d placed it there seconds before he’d walked out of his apartment and slid into Meg’s Jeep – but pulling it out in front of the sea of people caused a heavy lead to settle in his stomach. The pill he’d taken on his way out of his front door was already beginning to wear off. He made a mental note to talk to his doctor about increasing the dosage. He was so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t realised Charlie had stopped abruptly and was staring at something down the street.

“Meg, look.”

“That’s interesting.” For once, there was no sarcasm laced into her words.

“I wonder what it is.”

“Like I know? It wasn’t there last year.”

“Let’s go check it out.”

Castiel’s confusion grew when the women pushed forward, Meg clutching onto his sleeve to prevent them being separated; neither of them bothered to explain what was going on. He shrugged mentally and followed his friends. When they stopped, he furrowed his brow at the sight of a tall, four-walled booth. There were no doors that he could see, though the back of the booth was against a building. In the wall facing the street was a small hole, covered on the inside with a thick, black curtain. A chair sat by the wall; a group of people were staring apprehensively at the booth. The large black sign just to the left of the hole announced:

**Free Tattoos!**

_STEP RIGHT UP IF YOU DARE!  
_ _Free ink (permanent or semi-permanent) for anyone  
_ _brave enough to withstand the suspense  
_ _of not knowing what they’re getting!  
_ _The artist chooses what you get.*  
_ _Take a seat,  
_ _Put your arm through,  
_ _Press the button for the option you want,  
_ _And enjoy!_

A smaller sign beneath that read:

_-100% Sterile  
_ _*100% Guarantee of Classy, Tasteful Art  
_ _If not satisfied, free cover-up of your choice!  
_ _(Only applicable to permanent tattoos)  
_ _Semi-permanent tattoos made with Henna dye.  
_ _(Please tell artist if you have latex allergy)_

He knew the shine in his best friends’ eyes. Both girls turned to him simultaneously as soon as they were done reading, and he groaned inwardly. Whatever idea they were brewing in their brains was sure to bite him in the ass. He cocked an eyebrow when Meg smirked.

“So, Clarence, how do you feel about ink?”

“I can live without tattoos.”

“C’mon, Castiel. It’ll be a great reminder of a moment of spontaneity.”

“Think of it as a physical souvenir of a time when you fought your anxiety and won. Or of being with two incredibly gorgeous girls at the same time.”

He could feel his cheeks burning. “I –”

“Please, pretty please?” begged Charlie as she clung to Castiel’s arm, her lower lip jutting out. “You don’t talk about your past, and I get that. I understand why. Completely. I know it’s been literal Hell the last few years. But this... This is something that Pam’s been telling you to do for a while.”

“Pamela has not been telling me to get a tattoo, especially not at a street fair.”

“No,” interjected Meg with a sigh, “but she _has_ been telling you to actually do something _new_ for once.”

He stared between his friends for a few minutes, mulling over what they were saying. His therapist, Pamela Barnes, had told him just earlier that week, that staying in the same routine, the same pattern, every single day was doing nothing for his progress – that going out and doing something completely out of the ordinary would pull him from his rut. Keep him from becoming stagnant and most likely relapsing. She was one of the best therapists he’d ever had, and he didn’t want to let her down. He exhaled heavily and stepped toward the chair. Somebody in the crowd started cheering for him; he had a feeling he was either the first, or one of few, fair-goers who had accepted the booth’s offer of a free tattoo.

“Make sure it’s permanent, Clarence!” Meg called.

Charlie recognised the look in his eyes and made her way to his side. Their other friend followed suit only seconds later. He slipped his arm through the hole in the wall, shifting in the metal folding chair to get more comfortable. There was a small box on the ledge with a sign taped to the top. _A- Permanent B – Henna dye_ was written in block letters. Before he could so much as blink, Meg had pressed the button labelled A. He merely gave her an unamused glance out of the corner of his eye before crossing his legs at his ankles. The longer he sat there, with nothing happening, the more confused he became. Perhaps nobody was on the other side. Perhaps this was a waste of time. He nearly fell out of the chair when somebody suddenly grabbed his wrist gently; he could feel latex gloves encasing a rather large hand – a male, then. Something cold slipped across his skin. His brow furrowed as he felt something dragging across the top of his wrist to the middle of his forearm. Then, there was that cold again. A buzzing noise drifted through the curtain, and he ‘d just inhaled deeply when the sharp pain started. He gritted his teeth at the sensation of the needles jabbing his skin repeatedly.

As he sat there, his arm resting on the sturdy ledge that connected to the edge of the hole in the wall, his mind travelled back to the first – and what he’d thought was the last – time he’d been in the position he was currently in. The image of Eli, in all his smug glory and invincible pride, his grey-blue eyes enticing in the worst way, his hair casually ruffled, shot to the forefront of Castiel’s brain. Eli had been what Meg and Charlie so eloquently described as a “clusterfuck train-wreck nightmare wrapped in a high-quality dream package”; he was full to the brim of charm and the right words. He knew how to speak and act and touch, just enough for Castiel let his walls down. He had been sweet, patient, loving... When Castiel had gotten food poisoning, Eli had been there to take care of him, make him better. Eli had been the first one to comfort Castiel when his father had a heart attack. Charlie and Meg had shown up shortly after, but Eli was there first, his eyes so full of tenderness and concern, his words low and sweet and soft. From the moment Castiel had met Eli he was sure that he’d dreamed Eli to life. Castiel had wanted nothing more than to please him. So when Eli had asked, Castiel had wasted no time in booking an appointment at the nearest, best-rated parlour. He’d walked out with Eli's initials inside of a small Celtic knot on the inside of his right wrist. All that met his eyes any more was a jagged, angry scar the size of a dollar coin – the only remnant of the razorblade’s stinging kiss. That had been the second time in the span of as many months that he ended up in the hospital for seventy-two hours. Neither Charlie nor Meg had known about the tattoo; he’d made sure it always stayed covered up before Eli fucked everything up – before he’d fucked Castiel up.

Finding out Eli had packed up and left in the middle of the night, leaving only a burnt-out cigarette butt in an ashtray and a five-word note behind, had damn near killed Castiel. Eli hadn’t even tried to put more thought into the goodbye message; only _“I don’t want you anymore_ ” had been good enough for the asshole. Charlie had been the one to find Castiel the next morning, lying in his bed, the sheets soaked with the blood that had poured from his wrist. The razor shined from its place in his limp hand. She’d called Meg, who’d directed her to wrap a clean towel around his arm and call an ambulance and told her she would meet them at the hospital. It had been Hell – waking up to find himself strapped to a bed in an unfamiliar place. The white bandage around his wrist was blindingly white under the fluorescent lights; the doctor had called Pamela in to do a psych evaluation on him. It had been nearly two years, and Castiel was doing much better. He hadn’t thought the women he loved would ever forgive him for what he’d done. Instead, Meg had pleaded for him to let her find that “sorry sonuvabitch who did this to you and make him pay.” He’d begged desperately for her to drop it.

He jerked his arm back, but that gentle grip on his wrist turned to steel. Something smooth and round slid across the flesh of his palm – a pen. He laid his hand flat and waited with bated breath until his arm was released. When he pulled his arm away, his wrist was shiny from ointment and Saran wrap; under the protective layer was a jet-black semicolon about an inch and a half long with small, intricate angel wings of the same colour on either side. He opened his palm to see what had been written. Under a phone number were the words _If you need to talk._ Charlie bounced up to his side, and he hurriedly hid the words away beneath his fingers. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw the new ink residing in his skin.

“Oh. Em. Gee. Castiel, that’s amazing! I love it. Oh, the wings are fantastic.”

“It’s really nice,” Meg whispered with a soft smile. “It suits you.”

He grinned to himself before turning back to the hole, leaning close to be heard through the thick curtain. “Uh... Thank you. It’s perfect.”

He walked away, left arm linked with Charlie’s right, with Meg announcing their passage through the crowds. Pam and his friends were right: Something new was just what he needed.


End file.
